


And to all a good night

by Helen8462



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Christmastime, F/M, Not responsible for cavities, fluff!, fluffy fluff, secret santa gift fic, the fluffiest fluff to ever fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 04:30:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13069182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helen8462/pseuds/Helen8462
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Kathryn does a bit of reminiscing...





	And to all a good night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hook_yarn_and_stitchmarker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hook_yarn_and_stitchmarker/gifts).



> This is a gift for @thecaptainandhercommander for the 2017 Secret Santa Exchange. You requested J/C and fluff, so J/C and fluff is what you shall have! I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

 

“He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle.  But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”

When I look beside me, the little girl who had been so eager to read this classic tale has already fallen fast asleep.  Her soft sighing snores are perfectly peaceful as she lies in the crook of my shoulder.  I know it is her mother who should be here with her now – unable due to being detained on the planet below – but despite feeling like a poor substitute, I decide to savor this precious experience.

Naomi shifts and settles in closer, I can’t bear to extricate myself from her tiny form just yet, so I close the book and lay my head back on the Wildmans’ couch.  It’s not as if I’m in a rush to get back to my quarters anyway.  They’ll be empty until Chakotay and the others return from their supply gathering mission.

Though my eyelids are heavy, my heart is especially light on this special evening. 

In the four years we’ve been on _Voyager_ I haven’t brought myself to celebrate the Christmas season.  I’m not talking about the religious part, mind you, rather the sentimental, traditional part.  Something my mother always insisted that we did as a family, because her mother had insisted, and her mother before that. 

Each December, out we would trek to the forest at the edge of our family farm, to a row of perfectly kept pine trees with a hand saw and a sled.  My father, grumbling the whole time, but my mother and sister and I, we enjoyed every moment trudging through that thick snow to pick the perfect tree.  And in the spring we would plant three more, just to be sure there would always be enough.

Christmas is a time that a few other people onboard seem to be nostalgic for as well, Sam Wildman, especially.  It’s odd that with all of the other celebrations Neelix has forced on us, we haven’t celebrated this time of year.  Thinking back though, I recall that bad things seem to settle around the month of December.  Seska’s plot to strand us all – we just memorialized Hogan’s death three days ago.  The year after I was busy brokering an alliance with 8472 to save us from the Borg – not the most lighthearted of times.  Then there was that god-awful void.  I spent last Christmas staring into an abyss.

But this year – _this year_ – is different.  We are in orbit of an uninhabited, but beautiful and lush planet.  Our teams are having tremendous success restoring our stockpiles.  We haven’t had any hostile encounters in months.  Spirits are high.  

Merry and bright.

On a more personal note - I have Chakotay to celebrate with now.  Not just as a friend and first officer, but as a lover, a true companion, the way I believe we were always meant to be.  Or, I will have him when he returns shortly with Naomi’s mother and Neelix, that is.

Ah, Naomi.  I do feel badly that Sam couldn’t make it back in time for tonight.  As I brush her strawberry blonde hair from my shoulder and gently back into place, I think about what a joy this beautiful little girl has been to all of us.  She keeps our spirits up and an optimistic future always in our viewport. 

Her enthusiasm for all things Christmas has been downright contagious.  She decorated the hall outside of her quarters with paper snowflakes, strong-armed Neelix into baking gingerbread men, and just this morning I caught her leading a round of carols in the messhall. 

It’s only natural, of course.  What little girl wouldn’t be tempted by stories of the fantastical Santa delivering presents and candy while munching on a bevy of cookies on Christmas Eve?  I thought her little heart would break when I made the mistake of telling her that _Voyager_ had no chimneys.  But to my credit, I quickly recovered and promised to leave the shuttle bay doors open.  And yes, Naomi, I’ll be sure there’s room for his sleigh.

Such innocence.  

So peaceful as she dreams beside me.

I really should really be getting this sleeping bundle to her bed.  But she shifts again, lets out a little snort and covers her eyes with her hands.  What is the rush, I think?  These times are so few and far between.

“Computer, lights off,” I call.  Now we are dappled in only the glow of stars.  I imagine they are lights from my mother’s tree before I drift off…

* * *

_The door chimes just as I’m bent low and opening the oven.  I send the young girl with jet-black hair who has been helping me to go answer it.  If I step away now the cookies will burn for sure and then I’ll have to wait another year to redeem myself._

_I check the tray and yes, they’re finally perfect.  Warm and gooey, crispy on the edges, chocolate chips oozing out… Even if they’re much too hot, I can’t resist a taste as they come off onto the rack._

_“Mom!  Papa’s back and needs help.”_

_I hastily remove my oven mitt, steal another bite of cookie, and head into the spacious living room where a log is already crackling in the fireplace.  I can’t see Chakotay, or the young man who I know is with him, but I do see the top of a very large, very snowy evergreen tree as it is being pushed in through our door._

_“I think we’re going to need a transporter,” my girl says._

_“We might,” I laugh, then I grab onto the top and begin to tug._

_“Go straight through, Kathryn,” I hear my husband call.  “Keep pulling.”_

_“Aye, Captain,” I reply.  “Full reverse thrusters.”_

_My daughter rolls her eyes dramatically.  After a few more moments of tugging the gigantic tree has been brought inside._

_“It’s huge!” she remarks, joining her brother to admire the find._

_“We got the best one,” he replies with a grin._

_Together we work to get it into the stand and then they take a moment to brush snow from their jackets._

_“Smells like cookies,” my son says, shedding his winter-wear onto the floor and making haste to the kitchen._

_“Don’t eat them all!” I warn.  “I need proof that they didn’t burn this year!”_

_“I don’t buy it,” Chakotay teases.  “If they’re not burned, someone else must have made them.”_

_“Our daughter,” I reply.  “She did it all, I just watched.”_

_He nods. “That I’d believe.”  He leaves me with a gentle kiss; his nose is cold against my cheek. Then he hangs his coat by the fireplace and warms his hands there._

_Once he’s adequately thawed and dried, Chakotay plops onto the couch next to me and stares at the monsterous conifer which is so tall that the top branch – the one for the star – is unceremoniously bent against the ceiling._

_“We might have overshot it,” he says with a furrow in his brow._

_“It’s perfect,” I reassure, handing him a mug of hot cider.  I snuggle in close, pulling a throw around both of us._

_“We’re going sledding,” our son announces, coming in to retrieve his coat and boots.  He’s lean and tall, but filling out.  In another few years I expect he’ll be able to hold his own against his father in the boxing ring._

_“Bring in some firewood on your way back,” Chakotay tells him._

_The kitchen door slams shut and I hear them shouting as they run away towards their friends and the white-capped hills._

_I take a deep breath of pine and burning oak.  Soft music, interspersed with the occasional jingle of bells wafts through from where I’d been baking.  The firelight twinkles, glittering off the melting snow on the branches._

_“It’s so good to be home,” I say, lying my head on his shoulder._

_“You say that every year.”_

_“That’s because it’s true.”_

_“We’ve always be home,” he gently reminds me.  “As long as we’ve been together.”_

* * *

I am rustled from sleep by a hand on my arm and the sound of my name. 

“Captain?” comes a hushed voice.

“Sam… Ensign,” I say.  Grogginess is quickly replaced by a kink in my neck.  Naomi has shifted in our sleep and has her head in my lap now.

“We just got back,” the ensign tells me softly.  “Let me get Naomi to her bed.”

Sam retrieves her daughter by gently lifting her under the shoulders and knees, draws her close to her chest and retreats to the back bedroom.  It takes me as many minutes for her to return to regain bloodflow to my legs and reality to my mind.

“Heavy little thing,” I say, and Sam laughs. 

“She has grown quite a bit.  Thank you, Captain,” Sam says, then she motions to the book.  “It really means the world to me that you were here for her tonight.”

“Please,” I say, standing and straightening at last.  “I should send you on away missions more often so that I can steal more time with her.”

“You’re welcome anytime,” she reassures.  “Oh, Commander Chakotay asked me to tell you to stop by his quarters on your way back.”

“Thank you.  And Merry Christmas, Ensign,” I offer.  Then I quietly leave the way I came.

My walk back to deck three is blinding to say the least.  Being thrust out of my most vivid and pleasant of dreams into the harsh light of the hall hurts eyes as well as my heart.  My joints are stiff and I feel as if I’ve spent a year asleep on that couch.

When I finally reach Chakotay’s quarters, I want nothing more than to collapse into his bed.  As I key in the entry code, I consider briefly sleeping in my uniform.

The door slides open.

In front of me is the most unexpected sight and it takes me a moment to register what is there.

In the center of his living space, Chakotay has placed a tree.  An actual pine tree!  Just like the ones I’d been thinking about – dreaming about.  It’s not large, maybe a meter and a half, but it’s perfectly shaped and perfectly green and Chakotay is there, putting little bits of shimmering tinsel over the branches. 

My heart skips a beat and then I notice a flickering campfire in the corner.  I’m dumbstruck for a moment, then I realize… “Fire?”

He shrugs.  “It’s a holo-projection.  I didn’t think the captain would appreciate a hole burned in the deck of her ship.” 

I smile at his joke, but my initial excitement has been tempered just a bit, not for the fire being faked – because certainly to build a log fire in one’s quarters would not be the wisest decision – but for the tree. 

Oh, I wanted the tree to be real. 

While I’ve stood ruminating, he has walked to me and pulls me close, pressing a kiss to my cheek.  Then he looks up deliberately, drawing my eyes up as well. 

“Mistletoe,” I realize. 

And he kisses me again, this time full on the lips.  He tastes like peppermint.

“Want to help me decorate?” he asks as we part.  “I’ve got a bin of shiny stembolts and a bucket of old wine corks that I think will do nicely as ornaments.  I’ve just replicated some caramel popcorn and string – when we get tired of lacing, we can eat it.”

“Chakotay,” I say, “I really, _really_ appreciate all of the thought you’ve put into this evening, but I’m actually very tired and I’m sure you must be too.”

If I hurt his feelings, it doesn’t show. 

“Can you program the holoprojector to decorate the tree for us, and maybe we can just sit and enjoy it?” I suggest as a compromise.

Chakotay’s brow furrows.  “I said the fire was projected, not the tree.”

“The tree is real?”

“See for yourself,” he says, leading me by the hand. 

I reach out to touch its pointy needles and to my surprise it oozes a sticky sap on my fingers – something that a holo-projector certainly wouldn’t be able to manage.  And now that I’m close enough I can tell it smells of something fragrant, though distinctly not pine.

“It smells…”

“Like oranges, I know.  But otherwise isn’t it just perfect? ” he asks.  “We found a whole forest of them not far from where Neelix was harvesting mushrooms.  Some of them were at least fifty meters high.”

“You cut this one down and dragged it all the way back here?  In the shuttle and all?  You don’t even celebrate Christmas.”

“I know how important this tradition is to you.  And I thought maybe we could make some new traditions of our own.”

“Stembolts and winecorks?”

“And fire that isn’t hot, and a tree that smells like fruit juice,” he jokes.  “I brought back a couple of saplings so we’ll have one every year from here out.”

I lean my head against his shoulder and smile. 

“Oh!” he exclaims.  He moves from me so quickly I almost lose my balance.  “And…” he draws out the word until he reaches the replicator.  Then he spins slowly with a tray to reveal two steaming mugs and a small bowl. 

“Hot cocoa, thick and rich as chocolate bars,” he announces proudly.  “With little marshmallows - because I know you like those too,” he pauses mid-step on his way back and gives me a curiously enticing look. “Unless… you’re too tired.”

“I think I’ve just gotten a second wind.”  I abandon my uniform jacket and reach for a large handful of caramel corn.  The confection is rich and sweet.  His arms as they twine around me are possessive, yet loving.  The cocoa smells divine and the bin of stembolts awaits us.  All that’s missing is –

“Computer, play Chakotay Christmas selection Alpha three,” he requests. 

I hear sleigh bells and a children’s choir.  And now, it’s perfect.

“You know,” he says, “when we’re home, we’re going to have to have a stembolt and an orange on our tree to remind us of this night.”

“What do you mean when?” I ask, plopping marshmallows into his mug.  “As long as we’re together, I’m home.”

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine that when it comes to Christmastime, Kathryn Janeway is just like my own mother. Mom goes for the sappy Hallmark movies, rewatches Polar Express and It’s a Wonderful Life as if it were a sacred ritual, showers us with all of the decorations, cookies, love and sentimentality that is possible during December. The inspiration for this came from her.  
> Also, thanks to @cheile and @thesearchforbluejello for being my betas! Though, I made changes so mistakes are my own.


End file.
